Ok so you look at me when I’m walking down the corridors at school. I know what you see. You see black, all black. Guess what? I see black too. But it’s not you, it’s just my life. But you don’t know that, course you don’t. No-one does. Someone was gonna find out sooner or later, did it have to be him though?

I guess it did…

Hi, my name’s Billy, yeah, simple, short and to the point with plenty of opportunity for nicknames. Which is kinda why I like it. As you’ll have noticed, I tend to ramble on a bit, so y’know, shut me up before I get in my stride k? I’m starting at my new school today and I’m hella nervous. I babble when I’m nervous, so I hope the kids at New Bridge High have a lot of time to listen. I look in the mirror at my pyjamas, wondering how I’m gonna dress myself I’m shaking so bad. I lift my baggy old Good Charlotte t-shirt over my head. Yeah I like Good Charlotte, get over it. The bruises on my torso look even worse in the cold light of morning. I apply my makeup before I put my clothes on, mainly because I can’t decide what to wear. Makeup’s easy, it’s always the same, a smudge of black eyeliner and some concealer over the bruise on my forehead and I’m good to go. Well, I’m not, but my face is. Gerard Way is your God, Yves Saint Laurent is mine.

I dig through the pile in my wardrobe (I don’t really do tidy) until I find my favourite tshirt, a red Green Day one with St Jimmy on the front. I pull it on, catching a glimpse of the scar on my side. I got stabbed once, not a pleasant experience. I pull a pair of SuckerLove jeans out of the mountain of many on the floor and slip them on. It’s too hot for jeans, but I can’t wear shorts. Too many questions about the scratches on my legs. Finishing the look with a flick of my hair, which is blonde for now. I grab my messenger bag and I’m ready to go.

I sit on my bed, unmade of course and look around my room. Posters and gig tickets adorn my purple walls. Most people would have pictures of their friends and stuff, but I don’t have any friends. Not there, not here either. I’ve just moved here remember?. Back there I have no excuse.

There was a knock to my left, derailing my train of thought. A head popped round the door but he face was anything but friendly. Bleary, bloodshot eyes focused on my warm chocolate brown ones turned to cold mud once I saw her.

“Billy, school, now.” She slurred, leaning on the open door for support.

“Yes Mom” I mumbled, not wanting to piss her off this morning. Today was going to be hard enough without her making it harder.

“What did you say to me? You better stop your muttering and treat me with respect” I glared at her from behind my blonde fringe, not daring to say anything. We fought a silent war, each daring the other to speak or give up first. She lifted her cigarette from her lips and I flinched as I felt my arm blister. I dragged it away from her without a word and stalked downstairs and out the door, slamming it behind me.

So now you know my secret, the person who beats me up? Paints my life a proverbial black and kills me inside? It’s not my dad, or my brother. It’s my mom.